Chapter Text
Today is going to be a good day.
He’s an old man stuck in a little boy’s body, and he isn’t sure if fifty-some years of stress-induced damage transferred over to his miniaturized body, or if it disappeared altogether. Either way, he’s an old man, and he thinks he should start relating more positively to his surroundings if he wants to become an old man again.
His life is finally peaceful— well, as peaceful as his life can get as a former assassin and former-former member of the umbrella academy. But after decades of scraping and clawing to survive, peaceful is almost… boring.
Coffee in hand, Five struts back into the Academy. The hands of the grandfather clock reads 6:30am but he’s been up for an hour and half already. Quiet darkness lingers from the night before while his family sleeps, safe and sound, tucked between the sheets of their childhood beds.
“God, it’s like I’m living in a college dorm,” Five mutters, ignoring the little voice in his head that says ‘you’ve never lived in a college dorm,’ as he takes another sip of his coffee— and it’s black, thank you very much.
He’s just about to head towards Reginald’s study when the sound of a priceless artifact breaking steals his attention. He follows the shuffling noises that follow to hunt down the offender. Unsurprisingly, it’s Klaus.
“What are you doing?” It’s the most giddy he’s been all morning and dear god, he needs a hobby.
Several paintings littered at his feet, Klaus jumps when he hears Five and proceeds to drop the one he’s clutching (and apparently still trying to destroy).
“Oh! Mi hermano. Nothing- nothing. Just felt restless. You know how it is. I’m sure you’ve got all kinds of baggage and PTSD weighing you down these days.”
Five sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s not much he can say in response.
When you’re right, you’re right.
“What are you doing?” He repeats because Klaus is a master of evasion.
“Oh, uh. Nothing. I was just admiring these paintings and I realized they could be arranged in a more pleasing— arrangement.” He’s twitchy and weird.
Five stares at him, incredulous, before setting his coffee down. Klaus’s face scrunches up in confused anticipation for only a second, but his body doesn’t recover quite as fast. His hands continue to fidget and he spins halfway around to one side, then turns suddenly the other way around, as if he’s searching for something.
Five raises one brow at his little brother’s (slightly) unhinged disorientation. The guy needs help, he thinks.
But what is he supposed to do? Outside of the entirely too-brief childhood filled with missions and abuse, he didn’t really know who Klaus was. For years, all he knew of the adult version of his brother was his place of death alongside the rest of his siblings.
And the devastating burial of their corpses among the ruins of their city.
He doesn’t particularly believe that counts anymore.
Five doesn’t know what to say. He barely understands his own emotions— hasn’t had time to reflect and digest the jumbled mess sitting in the pit of his stomach like a rock. It’s too hard, so instead, he focuses on the issue of mind-numbing boredom of peace.
He’ll worry about the rest later.
Klaus stops his fussing and hangs his head, eyes trained on the frame in his hand.
Five really doesn’t know what to say or how to help. It’s not his style to talk things out anyway. He will leave that for Vanya or Allison.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” Five finally grumbles in response, “here, hand me one of those paintings.”